Random creative burst again. Argh. Maybe I'll make it longer later.
I don't own FMA. If I did, I would've made Ed transmute me a killer paper on the French Revolution. Preferably with a bibliography.
Winry was beautiful, talented, and clever. Even if not a perfect beauty, she was cute, and that was enough for the village boys. She could carry on an engaging conversation, had perfect teeth, and a lively countenance. She was a brilliant automail mechanic, and could have just as easily gone into law and passed with flying colors. Everyone told her so, and she had the grace to admit to it without being vain or haughty. Privately, of course.
The truth about Winry was that she was not perfect. She was just very good at being what people wanted her to be, and what she wanted herself to be. Anything Winry wanted to be, Winry could become out of sheer force of will. It was with that determination that she pulled herself out of the depression that had fallen over her after her parents' death and led her to become one of the finest mechanics in the country. It was also how she managed to be perfect, as mentioned above.
Of course, everyone, including perfect/not-perfect people, have to let off steam every once in a while. Winry preferred to do this with one or two out of her three favorite people. First was her grandmother, a hard-boiled soul with whom Winry could discuss the finer points of a certain screw design for hours on end. Then there were Al and Ed, who could at least nod and listen politely for half an hour, then forcibly drag the topic into more familiar waters.
To these three treasured people, Winry was not perfect. Winry was Winry the Engineering Freak and Fanatic that they knew and loved. And if not loved, then cared for in an extremely affectionate way. They were the ones that Winry confided in, even if what she said didn't sound like a secret. They were the ones Winry worried about, even if it only sounded like good-natured teasing. Winry told them things about herself that no one else knew.
Not that she told them everything.
Winry, you see, had a mind that was made up of layers upon layers of masks. Masks that made her happy, sad, enthusiastic, snappy, kind, not so kind, and a multitude of others at her disposal. She chose them carefully, making sure they were on tight, and there weren't so many as to confuse the people who didn't know her, or make the three who did suspicious. Indeed, Winry had gotten used to wearing masks so much that it came to the point where she was the mask. Or at least, the masks melded into one another, the facets of her psyche twisting into what she was supposed to be.
Winry liked to lie to herself. It made things much more easy.
She didn't have to deal with loving Ed.